Solitary on Top of Solitary

By: Marcus Isreal

As I gaze through this cell, I see a place designed to make a man feel like a caged animal. I’m housed in a prison in Marion, Ohio, called Marion Correctional Institution.

Recently, I was given thirty days in segregation and another thirty in Limited Privilege Housing (LPH). The cell I’m in has two doors, though they only lock one. Still, you can sense what it must have felt like in the past.

The Inside door looks like it once had a window, about a foot tall with six-inch glass squares. That door slides open. The wall is metal, covered with forty-eight of those tiny glass windows, and six more on the door itself, along with a tray slot where food was once passed through. About four feet beyond that is another door with a large window, now empty but clearly once filled with glass. That outer door only has four small glass windows near the top.

This setup makes me wonder what someone once felt, being sealed in here. I can only imagine the dehumanizing thoughts that must have crossed their mind. From what I understand, this was once a unit that held men on death row.

What’s crazy is that I’m a Level 2, second lowest classification in Ohio’s prison system, meaning I’m considered low risk. Yet I’m subjected to the same conditions once meant for the highest risk inmates. My violation? A cellphone. In other facilities, that’s not even a lockup offense.

Being here, I can feel the pain that must’ve been endured over the years. In some cells, you can see carvings on the floor of names, dates, years. One said 1973. Another, 1962, years before I was even born.

Limited Privilege Housing is supposed to be a step down from the hole, but you’re still locked down nearly 20 hours a day. You get some phone privileges, messaging, and tablet access, movies and games, mostly. We can walk to the café and actually go to the gym, unlike in the hole. But the downside is, we’re subject to strip searches daily. That means another man looks at your naked body every day, it’s humiliating.

The hate Is heavier in the hole. You’re shackled during transport to the showers or rec cage. I feel the shame men must’ve carried, being on display like animals. Everywhere you look steel sinks, toilets in small spaces, old prison bars it reminds you you’re locked up. The showers have bars from the floor to the ceiling of a twelve-foot area. One door, bars. Another door, bars. It’s relentless.

It's like an unreasonable form of torture. In these moments, I constantly have to rise above the physical and reach for something more, something free. I can see how this environment breaks people mentally. But I’m thankful. My trials have pushed me to evolve.

I could be angry, bitter, or hateful, and no one would blame me. But instead, I’m seeing more clearly the cruelty of a system designed to punish, not heal. Yes, people make mistakes. But are these conditions really about rehabilitation? Or is this just another example of a system that causes more harm than good?

I’ve seen men go back and forth between LPH and the hole for years, never making it back to general population. Maybe if their struggles were taken seriously, they could get proper help. Some are dealing with death in the family, drug addiction, or deeply destructive patterns and none of it is being acknowledged.

When I was in the hole, rats and mice ran back and forth under the door. Look outside, and all you saw were cages for recreation. Every design seems aimed at making you feel trapped.

And yet, I’m still thankful. My mindset remains positive. This experience is pushing me to make better choices. I see now that these places desperately need change and leadership.

At this point, I realize I can either be part of the problem or part of the solution.

I’ve been incarcerated for nearly fourteen years, and I’m awakening to a new reality. For so long, I focused only on getting free. Now, I see this experience as an opportunity to be a journalist, an activist, an advocate for humanity.

If we neglect any part of humanity, we neglect the whole. Any problem anywhere is a problem for all of us. Let’s make a collective effort. Let’s each play our role in healing the darkness we’ve been faced with.